grief becomes a window
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: In which Percy dies saving Fred, Fred has to live with the guilt, and Hermione wants to help.:: canon divergence:: for AnaLovegood23


_Word Count: 1886_

_For AnaLovegood23. Enjoy!_

_Warnings for grief, death, and slight alcoholism_

* * *

_may_

Fred barely has a chance to register what's happening. One minute, he's laughing as his older brother cracks a rare joke. "You're joking, Perce!" he exclaims incredulously, grinning.

The next, there's an explosion. Percy is a frantic blur, barely perceivable as he lunges and calls out Fred's name. Fred is pushed aside, landing roughly. A sharp pain shoots up his arm as he tries to break his fall. He thinks that maybe he has broken his wrist, but it could be worse.

It is worse for Percy. His brother's glasses lie on the floor, the wire bent and the glass shattered. Fred scrambles to his feet, awkwardly cradling his injured wrist in his hand. His heart sinks to his stomach as he approaches. "Perce?"

He's spent years being angry at Percy. The last time he saw him had been half a year ago in Diagon Alley. Fred had suggested he make himself useful by fucking off.

He hadn't meant it. Despite all the anger, he never hated Percy, never wanted wanted anything bad to happen to him.

"Percy?"

Percy's buried beneath the rubble, and Fred tries to ignore the blood that trickles out, thick and dirty and mixed with powdered debris.

"Percy, stop fucking around, mate." Fred hates how shrill and desperate his words sound. "We have a war to win."

But he knows in his heart that his brother will not be around to see their victory.

…

Fred sits in his old room at the Burrow, numb. He hasn't felt anything in what feels like ages, though he knows it hasn't even been a week since the war ended.

Since he lost his brother.

Since the world lost its color.

He swallows dryly, blinking rapidly. He doesn't know how he still has tears left to shed; Merlin knows he has cried endlessly since the battle ended. His eyes burn and sting and have become almost permanently pink and puffy.

With a sniffle, he reaches under his bed and pulls out a flask. It isn't as though anyone would be upset at him for drinking. But the way he's been drinking lately would probably break his mother's heart. So, Fred keeps everything to himself, bottling it up inside and letting the burning alcohol bring him some semblance of relief.

There's a knock at the door, but Fred keeps quiet. Maybe they'll go away. Instead the door opens, and Hermione steps inside. Fred swears softly under his breath, tucking the flask away. If Hermione notices it, she doesn't say anything.

"Your mum asked me to bring you lunch," she says softly, gesturing at the tray in her hands.

Vegetable soup, buttery rolls, and a slice of strawberry cake. Fred almost smiles. His mum has been trying so hard to keep the family together, and she seems to think that if she cooks enough, everything will fix itself.

"George is coming for dinner tonight," Hermione adds. "I spoke to him this morning. He's fixing up the joke shop."

Of course he is. Their philosophy was once that people need laughter the most when the world is dark. It doesn't quite ring true now. For the first time in his memory, Fred doesn't want to laugh.

"Just leave the tray on my desk," he says, waving in its general direction.

"You don't have to be alone, you know," she tells him. "I'll be here waiting. When you're ready, okay?"

He doesn't answer. She sighs and sets the tray down before leaving. It takes approximately five seconds for Fred to wish that he had asked her to stay.

_june _

He watches out his window as Ron and Hermione walk together, talking and laughing. Harry follows close behind them.

Fred doesn't get it. He had always assumed that Ron and Hermione would end up together. His youngest brother even awkwardly admitted to kissing her during the war, though he explained that it was a spur-of-the-moment, desperate thing when faced with the possibility of death.

He shakes his head. Why should he care? He is too broken anyway. His lips have forgotten how to smile, and he can't even remember what his laugh sounds like. He is not the sort of man who should be thinking about romance and love and hope for the future.

With a sigh, Fred returns to his desk, sitting down and studying the blueprint he's drawn up for a new product. It's like their Patented Daydream Charms, but different. A few tweaks in the spellwork, and it should, in theory, allow the grieving to visit with their fallen loved ones. He hasn't told George about it yet. One day, maybe. When he's sure.

He pulls his flask from his pocket and takes a deep drink. The alcohol burns all the way down to his stomach, but he doesn't mind. It's a welcome sort of pain, a reminder that he is still here. He takes another swig, then another.

Soon, then sketches and notes become blurry, and he can't feel a damn thing.

…

Fred hates coming here. He can still barely comprehend that Percy's gone, and it feels so bizarre to see his name engraved on a slab of marble.

He kneels at the grave, his heart heavy. Fred should be dead. If Percy hadn't pushed him out of the way, things would have been so different. Would Percy have blamed himself? Would he be here, kneeling before Fred's grave and trying to figure out how to forgive himself?

"You stupid prat," Fred says, his voice sharp but trembling, on the verge of breaking. "You bloody idiot! You were _never _the type to sacrifice!"

He had always assumed Percy would have been a Slytherin. While Ravenclaw might seem like an obvious choice, Fred thinks Slytherin is more fitting. Percy was always ambitious and so quick to do whatever he needed to do in order to save himself.

So what changed? Why would Percy do it?

"Why?" he demands, well aware that the stone cannot answer. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Fred?"

"Percy?"

But no. That voice is familiar enough, but it isn't his brother's voice. He turns, wiping his eyes with his robe sleeves. Hermione kneels beside him, placing fresh flowers on the grave.

"You know he wouldn't want you to blame yourself," she says.

"I don't _know _anything," he grumbles. "And Percy isn't here to tell me, is he? Would you like to dig him up and ask him?"

Hermione flinches, and guilt sours Fred's stomach. He has always been a little crueler than George. Maybe this has only made him worse.

He climbs to his feet, dusting himself off. "I'm leaving."

"Don't hide from me," she says.

He almost laughs. Hiding? He isn't hiding. It isn't as though people don't know where to find him.

But why does she care? Why should she worry about him at all?

Without a word, he turns and walks away.

_august_

He steps into the joke shop. It feels like an eternity some he's been here.

"Freddie," George says, walking toward him and hugging him.

Fred closes his eyes. How long has it been since he's allowed himself to be touched, to be held? Too long, he thinks, and he feels something break inside of him. He buries his face in his twin's shoulder.

"I dunno what to do, Georgie," he says. "I think I'm losing my bloody mind."

"It's okay," George tells him. "It's going to be okay."

Fred doesn't know how it will. Things will never be the same. Pain can never be undone.

But maybe, just maybe, for the first since that awful day, he believes that there is hope.

His lips twist into a smile as he takes a step back. The curve of his lips is so foreign, and his jaw aches at the effort. It has been far too long since he has smiled.

"I've got an idea for the Daydream Charms," he says. "Just hear me out."

…

Hermione has been sharing Ginny's room since May. Fred waits until he sees his little sister leave before he stands outside the door, hand lifted and ready to knock.

Why is it so hard? He wants to see her, but he can't bring himself to curl his fingers inward and rap his knuckles against the door.

He's about to walk away when the door opens. Hermione stands in front of him, eyes wide with surprise. "Oh! I didn't realize you were out here." She clears her throat and tucks her bushy hair behind her ears. "If you're looking for Gin, she said wanted to get a quick flying session in with Harry and Ron."

Fred nods. "Right. School starts back tomorrow, so I imagine she'll want to practice as much as possible. I sometimes think she and Wood could have been the best of friends." He shifts his weight from foot to foot. "But I wasn't looking for her. I actually wanted to talk to you."

Hermione takes a step back, allowing him to step inside. Ginny's trunk is at the foot of her bed; her school supplies are scattered around the area without a care. Hermione, by contrast, has everything arranged nice and neat and ready to be packed away.

"I figured you would have gone with Harry and Ron," Fred notes.

She laughs softly and shakes her head, her curls thumping against her face. "I considered it." Hermione shrugs as she turns her attention to her school supplies. "The past few years have shown that I'm good at fighting I suppose. I want to do something more, though. I want to make a difference, and I feel like Hogwarts is the best place for me to figure out how to do that."

"I'm sorry I pushed you away."

It's been weighing on him for a while now. It isn't just her, of course. He has pushed away everyone that has tried to comfort him. Slowly but surely, he is making amends.

"You were grieving," she says simply. "Besides, we're just friends, and not particularly close ones at that."

He reaches out, fingers curling gently around her arm. Hermione turns, eyes wide as she meets his gaze. "I think we both know that isn't quite true."

They've been dancing around it since the war ended. He's been too caught up in his loss, but he has seen the way she steals glances, the way her eyes glitter with wanting and hope.

"I'm not running anymore," he tells her, their lips meeting in a soft, chaste kiss.

_december_

It's the first snow of the season. Fred walks through Hogsmeade, smiling as the snow crunches beneath his boots. He's taken the day off from the store to check out potential new locations for the joke shop in their expansion. Hogsmeade is perfect for that.

But he's already done and has found the perfect location. Now, he has other things on his mind.

Hermione waits for him outside the Three Broomsticks, smiling as she brushes snowflakes from her hair. "You're late," she says, brows raising.

"Nah. You're just early."

She rolls her eyes, linking her arm with his. The contact makes him smile. It took so long to take the first step toward healing. Seven months ago, he would never let anyone get this close. It's amazing the things that time can change.


End file.
